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James Robert Smith

Bob Smith


Last Updated: 6/21/2009

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Gender: Male
Status: Married
Age: 52
Sign: Cancer

City: MATTHEWS
State: NORTH CAROLINA
Country: US
Signup Date: 5/14/2006

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Sunday, November 08, 2009 

Category: Travel and Places
On the way back to the travel trailer we stopped at a nice roadside park on the Ohio River. The park was located on the Ohio side, so all of the background is West Virginia territory.

The weather was pretty much perfect. Mid-70s with clear skies, the remnants of some great Fall color, and lots of fresh air and quiet. I enjoyed me some Ohio River scenery and peace.





11:02 AM 
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Saturday, November 07, 2009 

Category: Pets and Animals
Little Cairo is really settling in. I don't know when I've enjoyed the company of a kitten more. She has more personality and energy than anything I've seen! She's just a great kitten!

Today while I was working on a novel and sending some material to my agent, she came into my office and climbed up my leg and into my lap and then onto my computer desk. She promptly curled up next to my computer and went directly to sleep.

"Hey! What dat bright light? You waked me up!"

"Dat jus' a warnin'. Don't make me get up again. I weigh a whole pound, now."

10:13 PM 
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Sunday, October 25, 2009 

Category: Writing and Poetry
"I don't believe in ghosts."

I say that to myself a lot when I'm hiking through deep forests when I'm all alone. Kind of like Bert Lahr in THE WIZARD OF OZ movie.

On June 1 of this year (2009), I took several days off from work so that I could take my travel trailer and run up to the mountains near Wilson Creek to find some solitude. I needed that solitude so that I could finish a particularly stubborn manuscript. As I always do when I'm camping, I went with the idea of cramming as much hiking as I could into the working vacation.

My first full day I decided to head to a cliff top. Along the way I found myself hiking through a kind of forest I'd never encountered. The classic southern coves are filled with what are called Poplar/Hemlock forests. So named because the dominant trees are Tulip poplars and either Eastern or Carolina hemlocks. Both of these trees are relatively fast growing, and both can reach really huge dimensions by eastern standards. But the forest I found myself hiking through was mainly white oak and hemlocks. It was weird. I'd never seen these two species together in such a forest. Of course the hemlocks were almost all dead (as I've belabored here many times), but there were enough hanging on to life so that I could see what the forest must have looked like several years ago: beautiful.

I found myself on a trail that took me along a high ridge line. My intention was to hike out to a peak called Darkside Cliffs. I'd heard the views there were impressive. In addition, I also found myself completely alone. I had encountered no one at all since I'd driven away from the campsite, and there were no other vehicles parked at the trail head. The forest seemed completely deserted of humans, other than myself.

It was getting late in the afternoon so I wanted to get to the cliffs and see the views before the sun started to set. I surely didn't want to get caught hiking in the dark, an undertaking I'd experience in the past, and one which I don't find particularly fun.

When hiking alone, one hears many things. The forest is almost always filled with sounds. Blowing leaves, creaking trunks, bird song, the scuttle of bugs in the undergrowth. And so on. One sound that can get the blood pounding if you've never heard it is the truly creepy groan of tree trunks rubbing together in the wind. There are almost always trees that have managed to be in such close proximity that through exuberant growth or by accident, they find themselves in physical contact. When a high wind pushes them, the creaking and groaning of one woody trunk against the other can make your hair stand on end. There's nothing else quite like it.


And so I found myself hiking through this wilderness, completely alone.

The wind was blowing.

Dry leaves were clattering along the forest floor.

I heard that ominous thunder of one trunk all but cracking against the other.

A voice called out to me.

I stopped in my tracks. "Hello?" I asked. I looked around. The weird thing about this oak and hemlock forest was that it was clear. That is, I could see through it for a long way. There was almost no clinging undergrowth and the limbs of each tree were high on the trunks, making for unobstructed views through the forest.

There was no reply so I pushed on. The wind continued to blow. I could hear the crunching of my boots over the small stones on the path and the cracking of dry twigs under my feet. Again, I heard a voice call out to me. Did it say Help me? Goddamn!

I stopped again. It sounded like a little girl.

"Hello? Who's there?" I yelled it out. I turned around and around, looking in every direction through the forest.

I didn't see a soul. It was just those dark woods. And me.

I was getting to a bend in the trail, so I just pushed on, figuring the wind was playing tricks on the old ears. It happens almost every time I go hiking alone. You make of the forest sounds what you will. I was hurrying again, wanting to get to those fantastic views. But I didn't get far before I heard the voice again.

This time, I was sure of what I'd heard:

Help me. Help me.

"HELLO!" I yelled it this time. "Are you okay? Where are you? I don't see you!" I stumbled into the forest, headed for where I'd heard the voice. It couldn't have come from more than a dozen feet away. I thrashed about in the woods, looking for someone, calling out. "Where are you?" I kept asking that.

And then, seeming to come from just up the slope within all of those white oaks and dying hemlocks I heard the voice. It was a little girl. Maybe six or seven years old from the sound of her. But I couldn't see her. And this is what she said, practically in my ear:

Help me. My mommy's dead.

You must forgive me. I ran. I ran away and away and away. I didn't look back.
5:11 AM 
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Thursday, October 22, 2009 

Category: Travel and Places
One thing that I like about National Forest trails are the signs. I can negotiate okay in wilderness areas where there are no signs, but I prefer to have them. I have a lousy sense of direction and can get myself lost. Not lost in the sense of having to spend the night in the woods or have someone come in to rescue me, but "lost" in the way that I sometimes have to backtrack to find the correct route. I can use a map and compass like most outdoorsmen, but I like a trail that's plainly blazed and which has signs.

Pisgah National Forest does a pretty good job with the signs. They have several types. Here are some of the signs that I encountered on my hike on Sunday.


Sign along the trail indicating how to get to the cliff top views.

They also use this kind of sign. I haven't figured out what they're made of, but you encounter these often in Pisgah. I suppose they're low maintenance, but they don't appear to be very sturdy.

A USGS survey marker indicating the summit of Cedar Rock Mountain. The elevation figures were just about worn off. Circa the 1930s, I think.

Here's an old-fashioned kind of trail sign that we encountered in a gap with a lot of intersections from a number of trails. This spot apparently gets confusing for some people.

This was the only "keep out" type of sign we encountered. This was to protect access to part of the Fish Hatchery. They have to keep the fish hatchery area clean and clear so that the fry will grow up and be able to stock our streams and rivers.
3:12 PM 
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Wednesday, October 21, 2009 

Category: Travel and Places
After we left the top of Cedar Rock we began what was essentially a very long downhill hike back to the fish hatchery parking lot. Along the way we passed through some very scenic country. Eventually we ended up taking a route that took us along some of the rock walls of Cedar Rock Mountain and I, being unable to resist such temptations, had to scramble upon those walls. It was a lot of fun and if I'd not been so tired by that point I'd have climbed a bit more there.

In short order, though, we came to Butter Gap and the intersection with the Art Loeb Trail. I was impressed with the A-frame shelter that the National Forest Service erected there. They've built several shelters along the Art Loeb Trail, and this is a good one. It needs a little repair work, but largely it's in decent shape and offers a great place to sleep for weary backpackers.

Then we pushed on, and the trail soon took us into lower country where the small streams began to build into larger tributaries. Passing through Pickelsimer Fields we encountered a huge area that had been a beaver dammed lake in recent years, but which is now abandoned and drained. The sign of beaver activity is everywhere, but the animals have moved on after transforming the landscape. Soon after this we were at the first of the waterfalls where we lingered to take many photographs. Then it was on again to the next one where we were surprised to find more than a dozen people gathered there to take photographs. Everyone seemed to have big SLR digital cameras and ponderous tripods which they were using to snap memorable photographs.

And soon after that we were pushing into the parking lot. The hike turned out to be roughly ten miles in length and we had gained and lost over 1800 feet of relief over that distance. I was bushed, of course, and as I write this three days later I'm still physically recovering from that effort. But I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. I enjoyed the views and the forest and the waterfalls and the company of five decent people (and two dogs). It was a great hike. One for the ages.


Last year's huckleberries were all going purple on the mountaintop.

Mother Nature's Fall Pallete.

Okay. Whenever I come to a steep rock wall, I'm like a big kid. Yes, I was very tired at this point, but I could not resist scrambling up that steep wall of granite. Matilda beat me to it. So much easier for four legs! I copied her a bit and crabbed up the rock to a nice high point to take some shots.

Photograph from my vantage point about halfway up the slope.

Looking back up toward the top. I should have climbed higher.

A nice A-frame shelter on the Art Loeb Trail at Butter Gap. Thus: The Butter Gap Shelter.

I couldn't resist taking a photo of the water and the leaves.

I think Jack used my camera to take this shot of me with the first waterfall.

..


The first waterfall we hit on the way down the mountain.

Waterfall seen through the rhododendron.

Old logs and leaves and water.

Near Pickelsimer Fields we came to this abandoned and drained beaver pond. You can see the work of the busy beavers everywhere.

Closeup of a large-ish tree that the beavers felled.

The empty beaver lodge. Whence the critters? One of my hiking companions, Johnny Corn, gets all of his hiking staffs from such beaver lodges. I was too tired at this point to go digging for a proper wooden hiking staff. But the beavers do all of the work for you. They cut them, peel them, and generally have them the proper length.

The next waterfall we came to. This one was actually quite crowded. There were easily over a dozen people there taking photographs. Everyone but me seemed to have a good SLR digital camera. Alas!

I took this one of Jack at the waterfall.

Jump across, but don't fall in!

Big Bob and the waterfall.

..


The second waterfall we saw just before the last leg of the hike.




10:08 AM 
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Tuesday, October 20, 2009 

Category: Travel and Places
On Sunday, I joined up with Andy Kunkle, Jack Thyen, Johnny Corn, and Myron & Dorcas for a ten-mile hike that would take us to a couple of major Pisgah National Forest summits and two nice waterfalls. I'd hiked some of this big trail loop in years past, but never the entire distance. Much of this was going to be new territory for me, including the waterfalls and the summit of Cedar Rock.

I met up with Andy at the Wal-Mart parking lot in Gastonia where we generally hook up for our hikes. We left my car at the Wal-Mart and took his car to the trailhead at the Pisgah National Forest Fish Hatchery not far above the Davidson River Campground near Brevard. Generally we take my truck, but Andy wanted to hear some football game on the way back and he knew he could listen on his satellite radio in his car, so we took that instead of my truck. Boone sat in the back seat and tended to try to drag his huge, clumsy ass into the front seat to sit in my lap. He is one lovable, but very heavy, dawg.

We were the firs to arrive at the Fish Hatchery. Soon, though, Jack and Johnny arrived in one vehicle, and this Myron and Dorcas (retired couple) arrived with their own dog, Matilda. I used to get annoyed when I'd encounter dogs on the hiking trails, but now that I've hiked with dogs a few times I really enjoy it. You miss seeing wildlife with dogs along, but there's something about the enthusiasm of a dog in the woods that's charming and fun to witness.

In short order we were all hiking along the trail toward John Rock. As usual, the younger (and better conditioned) Jack and Andy took the lead. I followed next with Johnny, Myron, and Dorcas bringing up the rear of the line. I used to be able to keep up with Jack and Andy, but after pneumonia, surgery, and many weeks of inactivity this year I can no longer do that. Plus, I'm just getting old. C'est la vie.

In a few miles and about one thousand vertical feet, we came out on the cliff tops of the famous John Rock. The views from the top are really impressive and if you're in that area, I highly recommend that hike. Even if that's all you do, it's worth the calories to hike up there to look across at the very high country across the valley. From that peak you can see some of the highest mountains in the eastern USA--many peaks that stand well over 6,000 feet above sea level. And you can look down on the toy cars that you drove in with sitting tiny and insignificant in the fish hatchery parking lot.

After braving the cold winds tearing at us on the cliffs, we pushed on past the summit and descended to Cat Gap. From there, we took another trail (the Art Loeb Trail) toward Cedar Rock. A steady climb took us to a saddle below the summit of that mountain. There is no official trail to the top, but rock climbers have pounded out a really good trail to the summit. That trail is well maintained and easy to follow. Someone has even blazed it in several places with red paint and triangular metal markers nailed to some trees--so it's very simple to stay on target.

After a climb of about half a mile and 400 feet of pretty steep vertical, we found ourselves at the top of the mountain. We encountered a very nice fellow who was setting up a table with wine, food, and flowers for his best friend who was climbing the cliffs with his girlfriend. He expected his friends to arrive within the hour and he was setting everything up for his best pal so that his buddy could have the proper ambiance to propose to his girlfriend. How cool is that? He asked us to be careful not to dislodge any of the roses tied to trees from the cliff top to the mountain's summit. So we were careful not to do that. We took out photos and quickly left the mountain before the couple could arrive via one of the rock climbing routes. We wanted to respect their romantic moment.


This is the Pisgah Fish Hatchery and the high country looming beyond. A number of high country trails begin here at the hatchery parking lot.

Some grand Fall color as we begin our ascent of the mountains.

After a while and some climbing, we came to the cliff tops of John Rock. This place offers one of the best views anywhere of the famous Looking Glass Rock which most people see from the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Braving the cold and blasting wind for a self-portrait at the cliff edge. You can see the fish hatchery parking lot far below.

The really high country was covered in snowfall. These peaks are around Black Balsam Knob and Mount Hardy. Much of that terrain is over 6,000 feet above sea level. Among the highest mountains in the eastern USA.


..


The wind was really brisk and made it feel even colder. My fingers quickly became numb and I had to retreat back into the forest to warm up.



After we passed by John Rock, we were back in the forest with only occasional views through the tree cover. Classic southern high country hiking.

Jack and Andy and I take a break at a trail junction and wait for the rest of the group to catch up to us.

Jack and Andy passing under a recent dead fall across the trail.

This was our first view as we approached the summit of Cedar Rock.

More Fall color as I lay on my back, resting on the relatively warm rock.

Matilda and Boone, our canine hiking pals. Boone (the Weimeraner) lives with Andy. Matilda (the Australian sheepdog) lives with Myron and Dorcas.

The mountaintop proposal. True Romance:


The view the rock climbing couple would have when they reached the top.

One of the many roses strung from the cliff top along the trail through the woods to the summit.

Where a table, food, wine, and flowers were waiting for the rock climbing couple's moment. How romantic is THAT?

This is the guy who lugged all of that stuff five miles from the nearest trail head up 1800 very rugged vertical feet. We should all have friends one-tenth so cool.

Part II of the trip tomorrow...

6:32 AM 
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Thursday, October 08, 2009 

Category: Travel and Places
Ever since I was about eight years old I've wanted to travel out west. When I was a kid I would beg my parents to take me to Yellowstone and, later, to Yosemite. A lot of the kids I went to school with would bring their summer vacation photos to class and I'd see them--Old Faithful, Grand Teton, Yellowstone Falls, El Capitain, Half Dome, Tuolumne Meadows, grizzly bears, bison, elk...the list goes on.

My parents never were able to take me to Yellowstone, or anywhere else out west. In my thirties I was able to travel to California, but only on business, and the only time I got to hike out there was in the state park on Mount Palomar and at Cabrillo National Monument. Nice hikes, but hardly the kind of thing I wanted to see in the west.

When I was in high school, the brothers I hiked the Appalachians with spent one summer vacation hitting the western parks with their parents. They hiked all over the big peaks and got to visit the places I'd dreamed of. "Once you see the Rockies, you'll throw pebbles at the Appalachians," one of my pals told me. I couldn't imagine doing that, but it let me know how truly spectacular the western high country is.

In honor of my upcoming 2010 trip to the western mountains, I've decided to post a few photos of some of my favorite hiking spots in the eastern high country. Just so I'll be reminded not to throw pebbles at them when I return from Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons.

Big Creek, in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Midnight Hole, Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Bald River Gorge Wilderness, Tennessee.

Citico Creek Wilderness, Tennessee.

Rowland Creek Falls, Virginia.

Hickory Nut Gorge, North Carolina.

Blackwater River Gorge, West Virginia.

Dolly Sods Wilderness, West Virginia.

Seneca Rocks, West Virginia.

Tuckerman Ravine, Mount Washington, New Hampshire.

The Lion Head, Mount Washington, New Hampshire.

Friction climbing in the James River Face Wilderness, Virginia.

Harkening Hill, Virginia.

Whitetop Mountain, Virginia.

Whiteside Mountain, North Carolina.

Granny Burrell Falls, Panthertown Valley, North Carolina.

In the Albright Grove, Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

On my favorite hiking trail, the Black Mountain Crest Trail, North Carolina. My favorite because every few feet you're gasping. Either because of the rugged terrain, or because of the amazing views.

9:48 AM 
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Wednesday, October 07, 2009 

Category: Writing and Poetry
Don't waste any more time!


In the past ten years or so I've been frantically trying to climb every mountain that was on my old to-do list of places to see before I croak. Time is short. Barring an accident, I have maybe twenty or thirty years left to crawl across this mudball. And of course I have no way of knowing how much longer I'll be physically able to hike up steep slopes and pull myself up rock walls. So time's a-wasting!


I've almost exhausted the East coast of the USA of my major hiking goals. The Black Mountains are just about my favorite hiking spot, but I've been there many times. Mount Rogers and the Grayson Highlands in Virginia, likewise. The heights of the Smokies have been among the most beautiful hiking destinations I've had, but I've mined them out. Katahdin, in Maine: got it done. The White Mountains of New Hampshire, yes, with Mount Washington bagged--an amazing climb!

Just about the only major spot of eastern highlands that I want to see that I haven't experienced are the high peaks of the Adirondacks. I'd like to climb Mount Marcy and some of the other higher Daks before this mortal coil unwinds.

But, for now, my focus lies on the west coast. Carole and I have been trying to book our spots at Yellowstone for next year. But so far we haven't had much luck in getting lodging in the park. We're going to keep trying, though, because I want to climb in the Tetons and I want to hike into the back country of Yellowstone and see the land where the old Pleistocene megafauna still hang on, and where I'll be nothing but a lonely visitor.

With any luck, though, we'll have our western itinerary mapped out and we'll begin making serious plans to visit western USA's true high country. Life goes on.

The beauty is out there. Waiting for us.


10:14 AM 
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Tuesday, October 06, 2009 

Category: Writing and Poetry
On our way down to coastal South Carolina a few weeks ago, I had to stop along the way to put some books and manuscripts in the mail. We'd left too early in the morning to do it in Charlotte, so we figured we'd just keep our eyes peeled for a small post office on the state roads once we left the Interstate. Finally, passing through a very small village whose name I've already forgotten, saw a new post office facility on the left. Since I was towing the trailer, I wasn't able to pull into the small post office parking lot. So I parked on the side of the road across the street beside what appeared to be a decrepit and abandoned house.

As it was noon, the one-person post office was closed for lunch. Luckily, we only had to wait five minutes until it reopened, so I walked back over to the truck. The house we were parked at was really nice and creepy. On closer inspection, I couldn't quite tell if it was abandoned, or just really run-down and no one gave a damn about its appearance anymore.

But you could tell that at some point it had been a really grand place. It was big and very nice and I can imagine what it must be like to live in such a home (in a nicer state of repair, of course). I had to take a few photos of it, the best of which is here:


What a great old place. I can imagine ghosts floating throughout that house.




3:14 PM 
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Monday, October 05, 2009 

Category: Writing and Poetry
I spent today sick and sleeping most of the time. I don't know what's wrong, but I've just been wiped out since I got back to work. Also feeling sick more often than not. I may go see my regular physician this week.

Nice to see the horror/comedy ZOMBIELAND was the #1 movie this week. My agent is taking my zombie novel THE LIVING END around to the publishers, so the timing is good.

For years I've wondered about the relative popularity of the zombie mythos. All kinds of ideas and impressions hit me, notably the racist/xenophobia aspects of it. But I think what gets a lot of people excited about the basic premise is the opportunity to be reactionaries. Here is a problem that you really can smash or burn or shoot. For the first time here's something that bullets can take care of.

And that's why it appeals to a lot of right wing mentality. I covered that before, back in December 2006 here.

Now...that doesn't explain why it appeals to everyone else. One of my good friends once pointed out that the zombie trope plucks so many strings on the fear guitar that it's a can't-miss scenario. Just about every fear you can think of can be contained within the zombie storyline. I think he was right. I think that's exactly what's going on in most of these books and films and comics that center themselves on the idea of the recently dead returning to a mindless sort of life to consume the living.

It's just pretty darned scary.

Even when you try to work in a laugh or two.


9:36 AM 
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